


knew it's name since before i could speak

by spacenarwhal



Category: Charité | Charité at War (TV)
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Period-Typical Homophobia, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:54:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24733477
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spacenarwhal/pseuds/spacenarwhal
Summary: “What do you look forward to most?” Otto asks, the tip of his cigarette glowing amber as he takes another drag. Martin lets his eyes close, pictures what Otto wants, sleeping without fear, waking besides one another. Only a few short weeks of having this, but Martin can feel how deeply he wants both. He wants Otto to sleep undisturbed and untroubled by what he saw, what he still sees when he closes his eyes in the dark. He wants to keep guard over Otto for more than a handful of minutes, wants to kiss him awake, assure him that there’s nothing to be afraid of, only a new day ahead.Martin opens his eyes, knocks his foot against Otto’s. “Finally getting to take our shoes off.” He jokes, because the rest, the rest is too much even here, feels like uttering his wish will make it impossible to come true.
Relationships: Otto Marquardt/Martin Schelling
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	knew it's name since before i could speak

**Author's Note:**

> I binged this whole show in one night and these two got under my skin almost immediately.

Martin’s resolve doesn’t last.

Otto is standing there, staring at him still, mouth flushed pink in the swinging lamp light, and the meager distance Martin puts between them as he retreats from the table offers little reprieve.

He should leave the room, he should walk out into the hallway and out into the open air, walk and walk until he can leave behind the clawing, yearning thing he’s gone this long ignoring. He might have to walk all the way to the eastern front, but it would be a wiser choice than remaining here with Otto a second longer.

Martin has survived this long by making the wiser choice, by keeping his risk small and measured, but Otto has made him reckless in a hundred miniscule ways, all of them leading up to this.

Otto is still standing there, wide-eyed and unmoving, and Martin remembers what he was still trying to say before he gave into the urge to kiss him. “I don’t want to make trouble for you—”

“I’ve—” Martin starts, smoothing a hand over the buttons of his sweater. Nurse Angelika had presented it to him at his last birthday, smiling sadly and wishing him many more. It was only a week after she’d received a letter informing her of her son’s heroic sacrifice and Martin hadn’t the strength to reject her offer.

Otto blinks at the sound of his voice, color rising in his face. “Martin—”

Martin holds up a hand, the words pressing up against the back of his throat. He needs to say it, knows the regret of holding his silence now will eat him up from within, one more among all the others he’s carried all this time. Otto falls quiet again, and Martin sees it as clearly as he saw it the night he found him drunk in the hallway, that deeply entrenched sorrow he carries inside him. Martin recognizes it now because he carries it himself, all the horrors of this war imprinted on his very soul, inescapable no matter how hard Martin tries to forget.

“I am—I love—” Martin hasn’t uttered the words in so long.

(Martin thinks of Walter and his stomach roils, wonders if he’s still alive and selfishly hopes he isn’t if only to spare him from suffering whatever horrors await at the camps.)

Otto’s face shines and he moves quickly, stumbling over the short distance until he is standing in front of Martin once more, hands shaking as he reaches upwards, grabbing his face between his palms. “You do?” he asks, voice bright, his whole face alight with such boyish joy that Martin can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t act surprised.” Martin chides to keep from revealing anything more damning, but Otto only smiles wider, and Martin smiles in return, all the fear in his belly overshadowed for a moment by the immense pleasure of seeing Otto happy.

It’s hard not to lean against the warmth of Otto’s hand, to close his eyes and simply feel it.

Otto’s thumb sweeps over his cheek, and his mouth touches Martin’s again, light and quick, and whatever resistance Martin had left dissolves like sugar in a cup of tea. It’s so different from the first kiss, fumbling with its intensity.

Otto’s mouth is sweet as a spring’s day, patient and seeking, and Martin knows if he were to pull away now Otto would go, would do as he asks and never speak of this again.

But Martin is tired of the loneliness he’s carried this far, and Otto is beautiful, inside and out. Martin kisses him back slowly, takes his time learning the shape of Otto’s mouth, sighs at the warmth of his hands, the slow press of his strong body against Martin’s, holding him firmly against the door.

For a moment it is enough to forget the world outside.

-

Otto laughs against Martin’s mouth in the dark. Martin doesn’t shush him, the air raid sirens still blaring outside. Just this once, Martin tells himself, pulling away from Otto’s lips in order to lavish attention to the delicate skin beneath Otto’s ear and eliciting a breathless gasp. 

Otto’s hand grasps at Martin’s back, pulls his shirt free from his trousers, his fingertips sneak along the skin he manages to expose to his touch. His hand moves confidently now, so different from the first time in Martin’s room.

Martin too does not hesitate, rocks his hips forward and feels Otto’s own arousal. The sirens carry on wailing outside, drowning out the hungry sound Otto makes, palm pressing against Martin’s back to urge him on.

In his room, Otto’s hand had carefully curled around him, palm sweat-slick as it pumped up slowly and then ran back down. Martin had bitten the inside of his cheek bloody, embarrassed by how quickly he’d shaken apart under Otto’s tentative touch, tears gathered in the corners of his eyes, clenched tight against the awesome sensation of Otto’s touch. Martin had gone to his knees after, tried to curl around the wild-trembling feeling in his chest as he kissed Otto’s pale navel before taking his cock in his mouth. “No one’s ever done that before.” Otto had whispered, half-dazed after, fingers stroking over Martin’s hair and lips and jaw. Martin’s leg was stiff, his knee aching from bending against the cuff of the prosthetic and Otto had helped him up with strong hands, helped him over to the table and their forgotten feast. They ate like starving men that night, Otto’s hand reaching across the table now and again to cover Martin’s like he had to check that he was really still there.

Otto gasps his name in the dark, slots his knee between Martin’s legs, reaches with both hands to pull loose the knot of Martin’s tie. “Yes.” he whispers and Martin nods, kisses the side of his neck, pushes aside the carefully starched collar to suck a dark mark at the junction of his shoulder.

Otto told him how little experience he has, never venturing far with women and never risking an affair with another soldier, but whatever he lacks in practical application he makes up for in sheer enthusiasm. There’s nothing Martin’s done yet that doesn’t earn and response, whether it’s the force with which he clasps Martin closer or the kiss he presses against Martin’s lips, open-mouthed and humid in the cold night air. His every gasp and tightly hitched-in breath screams his pleasure and Martin can already see how easy it’ll be to go mad from this kind of power. Otto’s underwear is tented with a damp spot at the front when Martin finally works the buttons of his trousers free, his head falls back against the wall with a thump. Martin cups him through the fabric, watches the pale line of Otto’s throat bob as he swallows a strangled grunt, eyes falling shut as Otto gives himself over to Martin’s mercy.

But it isn’t power Martin’s after.

It isn’t even sex.

He’s gone without long enough to know he can go survive the loss, wonderful though it is. What he doesn’t think he can give up now is Otto himself, his charming smile and kind eyes, the way he says Martin’s name when he’s thinks Martin’s said something funny. It’s the offer of friendship that drew Martin to Otto in the first place, and that friendship remains intact now, sitting at the window watching Berlin burn in the distance.

Martin grew up here, right in this city, remembers a time before all of this. It wasn’t pretty, Berlin after the Great War but it was better than this, better than the barbaric cruelty of men and women hiding behind the iron eagle on their badges.

He’s tired of it, the war, the waiting, the fear that follows him everywhere, the dread he only ever seems to set down in moments like this, shoulder pressed to Otto’s, breathing in the scent of burnt tobacco and sweat cooling on Otto’s skin.

“What do you look forward to most?” Otto asks, the tip of his cigarette glowing amber as he takes another drag. Martin lets his eyes close, pictures what Otto wants, sleeping without fear, waking besides one another. Only a few short weeks of having this, but Martin can feel how deeply he wants both. He wants Otto to sleep undisturbed and untroubled by what he saw, what he still sees when he closes his eyes in the dark. He wants to keep guard over Otto for more than a handful of minutes, wants to kiss him awake, assure him that there’s nothing to be afraid of, only a new day ahead.

Martin opens his eyes, knocks his foot against Otto’s. “Finally getting to take our shoes off.” He jokes, because the rest, the rest is too much even here, feels like uttering his wish will make it impossible to come true.

Otto laughs, smokes his cigarette down and snubs out against the floor. He takes Martin’s hand in his, curls their cold fingers together so he can raise it, press a soft kiss to the back of his hand.

“Such a romantic.” Otto teases, smile flashing in the flickering firelight off in the distance.

-

The bread remains uneaten.

Martin lays the damned summons aside, reaches for Otto in the dark. Otto comes, and Martin’s insides bleed relief. He hadn’t been sure Otto would after this afternoon in Dohnanyi’s room.

Otto’s whole body shudders, his hands curling around Martin’s arm, holding on as though Martin were the only thing keeping him upright.

Martin doesn’t offer empty words, there’s no consolation for this, nothing to be done but to hold Otto close, to hold him and hold him and try his hardest not to let the fear devouring him from the inside escape.

Otto shakes, his hands prying bruises into Martin’s arms, breathing hard in the dark.

It feels as though it takes an eternity for the shaking to subside, for the grip of Otto’s hands to loosen just a bit. It’s only then that Martin dares to drop a kiss against Otto’s temple, his ear, against the sickly-pale curve of his cheek.

“Thank you.” Otto breathes, desolate and already defeated, “Thank you for letting me love you.” It sounds too much like goodbye for Martin to stand.

“Don’t.” He whispers, turning Otto more fully towards him, studying his face, the light in his eyes gone flat as a frozen river in the dead of winter.

-

It’s pushing their luck, but this day has already been full of miracles, perhaps Martin can have one more.

This greed will be the end of him, he’s sure, but he can’t care, not after feeling the end wrapped around him like the hangman’s noose.

The mattress from his old room doesn’t weigh much, though its still difficult to maneuver into the attic. The second from the Waldhausens residence is only slightly easier, though the light is already mostly gone by the time they’ve got Otto’s new quarters set up. Karin has already fallen asleep by the time Otto is happy with the arrangement, teasing Martin when he makes the bed. “No one is going to inspect if its up to code.” He says, taking the blanket from Martin’s hands and shaking it out messily over the mattresses lying side by side on the floorboards.

Otto strips off his trousers, kicks the uniform away as though he can’t bear touching it a moment longer. Martin sits on an overturned box in order to roll up his trouser leg.

This isn’t the first time Otto’s seen the prosthetic, but Martin hesitates now, knows the skin around his kneecap will be welted and red, judging from how sore it’s been all day. He hadn’t taken it off in the jail cell, afraid it would be taken away and never returned if he did, knows he’s overtaxed his leg by wearing it without pause for as long as he has.

“Let me help.” Otto says softly, dropping into a crouch before him, fingers moving quickly over the laces, easing them open deftly.

Otto frowns at what he reveals, skims his fingers over the angry skin, the scar tissue, startles Martin when he ducks his head and lays a kiss just over the place where the prosthetic is secured throughout the day. There’s nothing for it now, Martin will have to wait until tomorrow for ointment and a dressing, and he makes a note to gather what spare medical supplies he can find to bring Otto here, in case of emergency.

The duress of the day weighs heavily on his shoulders, but Otto looks at him, smiling gently as he asks him if he needs anything else before going to bed.

Martin shakes his head, knot in his throat, but Otto still helps him, fingers slowly opening his shirt, pulling it free from Martin’s arms so he can drape it over his pack.

They slip beneath the blankets in their underclothes, and almost at once Otto curls around him, face to Martin’s throat, arm heavy around Martin’s torso, pulling them together.

Martin ducks his head against Otto’s hair, still sweet with the scent of pomade, presses his palm between Otto’s shoulders, feels the warmth radiating off him, the rise and fall of his every breath. He tries to imagine what it might be like to have this not just this once but every night Otto will allow it, to have him close, have him safe, alive and warm in his arms. His mouth trembles in the dark, eyes burning viciously. If Otto knows he doesn't say anything, only holds Martin tighter, lips pressing softly over Martin's rapidly beating heart. "Sleep now Martin." Otto orders gently once the worst of the emotion has passed, and Martin nods, whispers his goodnight.

Martin will wake early, creep out of here before anyone can see him and wonder where he’s been.

But before he goes he will make sure to wake Otto, rouse him from a steady sleep brought on by sheer exhaustion if not by peace, and they will greet the new day together.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Arcade Fire's _Keep the Car Running_ because feelings.


End file.
